


Bite The Bullet

by Rinnly



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: All My Sons, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - No Band, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fighter Pilots, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Military Homophobia, Military Training, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build, Slow Burn, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinnly/pseuds/Rinnly
Summary: First it's 1920, following in his father's footsteps.It's 1938. The Second World War is creeping up, unbeknown to the American body.Then it's 1946, and he can't cry for his masterpiece.





	

It was 1920.  
Joshua William Dun was six, twisting wood beneath his tiny fingers, tongue sticking out as he focused on his craft.  
His mother called him an artist earlier that day.  
Told him that his father would be proud of him. He was determined to make them both proud.  
Gripping the makeshift plane he had created out of weak sticks and twigs he'd gathered in his backyard, the boy beamed with pride at the progress. Bending each thin piece of wood in place until it resembled a plane, the small boy's mouth gaped. He twisted his body around, waving it in the air as he saw his mother gazing out the kitchen window at his master piece. Or at least the extent of perfection in a child's mind, as it ended up being a structure of five sticks crossed and tied together with inexperienced fingers and weak thread. Lips pursing as he made mock noises of a motor sputtering to life, he hovered it off the ground before launching off with a, "nyoom!" From the boy's lips.  
The boy dipped the toy low to the ground, barely skimming the grass. Twisting the plane about between his fingers, making impossible turns and rolls in the air, he cheered as it reached back up into the sky. The small boy jumped up as he ran about the backyard, bare feet flying across the ground, face lit up with joy and plane noises rolling off his trilling lips.  
Romping about with childish innocence and excitement buzzing about him, his mother stopping her progress on washing dishes to gaze out the window with gentle adoration at his childish energy. She placed down the damp cloth and leaned on the edge of the kitchen sink, gazing past the array of small, potted plants on the window sill.  
The boy looked lost in his own world. Gaining speed, dark brown curls bouncing as the child jumped in the air with loud shouts of victory as he dodged fake enemies, dipping and turning as he took on an entire army in his mind, the makeshift plane winning every battle. Tongue stuck out between his teeth, the boy let out a yelp as his feet collided, losing coordination between his still growing limbs. The wooden plane slipped between small fingers and the boy shrieked as his legs couldn't catch beneath himself. Crying out as he crashed to the ground, the boy watched helplessly even as the ache against his chin and chest throbbed, he watched in horror as his masterpiece collided with the ground.  
He heard as the plane fell apart.  
Creaking as the wood gave out, the boy's eyes went big, throat tightening as he watched as the first twig snap. The weakest piece he had selected crunched, the rest of the makeshift toy shattering against the ground, pieces flying everywhere in a mangled mess.  
The boy cried.  
Even as his mother was at his side, pulling him to her chest and rubbing his back, cleaning his face of mud and dirt, cooing to him, holding his hand as she helped him inside, sat him down on the kitchen counter, handed him a piece of candy, carding her fingers through his hair.  
The boy still wept for his masterpiece.

  
He slipped out of the passenger side door of the cramped 1933 BMW 303, cold air protruding both into the vehicle and his throat. The car squealed and groaned as he pushed his weight off of it, standing with a newfound strength in his shoulders and a fiery determination as he gazed at the tall structure in front of him. It loomed high above him, the shadow engrossing him like that of the underlying fear he had convinced himself to swallow. His dream was coming true, every moment he spent through elementary proudly saying he wanted to be a pilot like his Papa was. Every day pushing through High school spent lifting, striving to be the best student he could. And when he finally graduated, cap on his head of red hair, Josh vowed he would become a pilot to the entire school, a burst of applause roaring through the crowd. He was called honorable, a true hero, a man of his country, as he hurried to the recruiter that afternoon and was welcomed with open arms.  
He shuddered as he swallowed the memories and smiled sympathetically at his mother, who hurried around from her seat behind the wheel to grip his sleeves like a lifeline, combing back his hair, kissing his forehead and cheek with small marks of red lipstick lingering on his skin. He decided to keep it. She trembled, hands shaking as she gazed up at him with both pride and fear swallowing her face with the threat of tears at hand. It was never a good look on her. Josh bit his tongue and instead, reached back inside the car with a flash of a smile. She was unable to choke back her sob as Josh slung a duffle bag over his shoulder of a thick jacket with a warm, cotton collar. The dark brown leather was marked with burns, tears, scratches, and his father's badge decorated above his heart. The coat hung on his broad shoulders as the air around them gushed with frigid fingers, reaching out and grasping the two who stood idly, both trying to hold back saying too much. Silently gazing at his mother, Josh's gentle mocha orbs brimmed with concern as she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm, smudging the eyeliner that had previously been applied to the corner of her eyes early that morning. Finally speaking, Josh dropped his eyes to his feet as he heard how wrecked her voice was from tears. "oh, Joshie. I can't believe this."  
She wept, and Josh blinked away his own tears and instead held her, rubbing her back and pressing his face into her hair as she cried against his chest. She smelled like home, the type of scent you couldn't describe other than 'familiar'. Finally pulling away, Josh smiled reassuringly, beaming into that same smile he had as a child, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I love you, mom."  
She bit the inside of her cheek, nodding. "I love you too, Joshie."  
"I'll be fine. I promise."  
"I hope you will be, honey," she swallowed, "please, stay safe."  
Josh gnawed on the inside of his lip as she placed a final kiss to his forehead, having to get on her toes and with his assistance as he ducked his head so she could reach. He held her hand for a moment longer, squeezing her warm, glove covered fingers gently with a reassuring smile. She nodded and urged him forward with a, “don't miss your flight. Go on, Joshie. I love you.”  
He beamed a final smile at her, her heart melting at how familiar that toothy grin was. Turning as he trudged towards the doors, he turned for a moment to see his mother still leaning against the passenger side door, clutching her long coat tighter around her body.  
He refused to turn back around after he gave her a final wave and smile, eyes dropping to the snowy ground.  
This was it.  
He took a deep breath as he pushed into the crowd, being swallowed whole by the ebb and flow of bustling people. He found himself quickly being ushered into his terminal, feet sliding casually across the ground as he found himself a seat. Sitting heavily, Josh placed his bag between his feet and leaned into the back of the taut, dark plastic. He tapped his fingers on the stiff seat idly, filling the space with the soft pat and tap as he drummed a half hearted beat against the chair. He got a couple glances from his odd tick, but didn't seem to mind the slight attention as he passed the time to a consistent beat. Head bouncing slightly, Josh's foot tapped out a steady rhythm, his legs and fingers alike finding use in his upbeat drumming. Having nearly lost himself in the sound, Josh was torn from his absent minded focus as he heard a voice over a weak speaker.  
"Passengers begin boarding, flight 14 to Miami, Florida."  
Josh jumped up from his seat, slinging his bag back over his shoulder and strolled past lines of empty seats and bored faces towards a pair of double doors that opened into a long hallway. The small stream of passengers followed behind him and flight attendants, the red haired man trailing behind the employees with keen interest, smiling at the co-workers making small talk amongst each other. They wore fitted, black vests and white blouses. The men had tight, black trousers and shined, dark shoes that clicked each time they took a step. The women had black heels and pencil skirts, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows and their hair pulled into tight buns.  
Once they reached the final set of doors, the air suddenly felt thinner as the cold blasted the line of people with a strong gust. Even as everyone shifted gears and hurried out through the snow, clutching their bags, their children's hands, the plane still shone with bright reflections of the sunlight that managed through the clouds. It was almost blinding the way the light bounced off the polished metal, causing Josh to squint and duck his head towards the gathering snow around his feet. Being boarded by a crew of yellow vested men, Josh made his way up the steep stairs. He turned and saw an older couple struggling with their bags out of the corner of his eye, as well as the amount of huffs and complaints from the woman, feeling himself extend a hand towards them without a second thought.  
"May I help, Ma'am?"  
The lady rose up squinted eyes, face heavy with pale powder and excessive lipstick, and nodded hesitantly. He almost felt guilt gnaw at his stomach by the look of shock and repulsion that flashed across her face at his messy, bright red hair. But she smiled with straight, white teeth and Josh could only assume dentures, but kept his mouth shut and slung the bag over his shoulder. He lugged himself back up the inclined steps and felt the cold nip beneath his skin and in his lungs, setting them on fire as he huffed. Finally making it up, Josh hid the fact that he was winded as he handed the woman her suitcase, stopping himself from asking, "what's in that thing?"  
And instead smiling and waving it off as she thanked him again before she disappeared towards the front of the plane with her husband on her heels, mouth moving as she whispered to the thin, feeble looking man words Josh knew was about him.  
He claimed a seat near the back corner, tightening his coat around his body as he shivered, leaning back into the plush material of the pale blue seat that had yellow and red splashes. Maybe the array of primary colors was targeting a certain liveliness in the material, something a child could recognize and smile at how easy it was to name the colors to their proud mother who smiled and urged the child to say them. The seats were the only thing without an ugly gray or a sterile white besides the carpet that trailed between the two seats on each wall of the plane, the carpet a worn red. Josh assumed it must have been vibrant before thousands of passengers trudged on it. He heard a voice buzz through the speakers above his head, the announcer's words crackling, a high pitched ringing behind his voice which made Josh wince.  
"Flight attendants, doors to arrival and crosscheck."  
Josh curiously watched a man over his shoulder, seeing the man click things into place on an air locked door before he lost interest and instead let his neck go slack, slumping against the seat with a sigh as he gazed up at the ceiling and his eyes fluttered closed.

  
Josh wasn't completely positive when he fell asleep. All he knew is he woke with a jolt, sitting up straight as a voice came out particularly loud, the mic peaking as Josh's ears popped.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now on our final approach into Miami."  
Closing his eyes for a moment longer, Josh's mouth parted into a wide yawn. Stretching his arms above his head and extending his legs as far as they'd go beneath the seat in front of him, which wasn't very far, Josh felt the gradual decline of the plane as he went lax against the seat. The momentary pressure that pushed him back into his seat was enough to make Josh fully alert. Looking out the window, Josh watched as they gradually glided through the thick, dark gray layer of clouds that fogged his vision for a moment before the plane broke through the heavy layer and dipped closer to the wide field of concrete. There was no snow, only bright fields of grass and the birds eyeview of far away houses.  
It wasn't more than thirty minutes later that Josh pushed into warm air and smiled, a skip to his step as he strolled down the steep stairs that led to the ground,feet landing heavily on the concrete. The air was thicker here, hanging over his head with an ear popping weight, but it was warm. The air was humid, clouds hanging low to the ground and gusts of wind thrashing his jacket about.  
Checking through the minimal security, Josh strolled out front and found a truck already awaiting him. A figure sat proudly behind the wheel, a smile on his lips.  
“Joshua William Dun, is that you?”  
Josh saluted, holding his bag close to his body as he opened the passenger side door, climbing in next to the major.  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
The man’s laugh was good natured, which let Josh relax. “No need to thank me, Joshua. We’ve been waiting for you, it’s truly an honor to have you in our unit.”  
Josh smiled softly as the truck sputtered to life, “it’s an honor to be apart of this.”  
“Sure is, son. _Sure is_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys will stick around.


End file.
